


The Agony of Death After the Agony of Life

by Pthithia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Barricades, Canon Era, Loss of Virginity, Love, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pthithia/pseuds/Pthithia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you doing here?"</p><p>Admittedly it wasn't his finest moment, standing in the moldy and crumbling hallway in only his shirt sleeves and trousers, hair wild and staring in an almost amazement at the angel across from him.</p><p>"That's a fine greeting," Enjolras had said coolly, pushing carelessly past Grantaire into the flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Agony of Death After the Agony of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Porn that developed plot halfway through and then became way too long. Enjoy!

It had begun so innocently.

(As most things concerning Enjolras and Grantaire did.)

It was meant to be quiet. A night spent alone, Grantaire sitting in the tiny hovel he called his flat, drinking and painting himself into oblivion in preparation for the following day. That was it. That was what he said. That was what he told Jehan, only half joking.

"What are you doing here?"

Admittedly it wasn't his finest moment, standing in the moldy and crumbling hallway in only his shirt sleeves and trousers, hair wild and staring in an almost amazement at the angel across from him.

"That's a fine greeting," Enjolras had said coolly, pushing carelessly past Grantaire into the flat.

And for all of his practice in boxing and fencing and short-stick, he allowed the thin blonde to move past him into the apartment.

Grantaire followed him, bewildered. There was no time to even pretend to tidy, as Enjolras shrugged out of his trademark red coat, and after finding no coathanger he neatly folded it in half and let it drape over his arm.

"Well?" Grantaire raised his eyebrows.

Enjolras looked at him with disdain. "What?"

Despite himself, Grantaire laughed, hand moving self-consciously to his hair. "Not that I am not pleased to- how did you find this address?"

The blonde pursed his lips before moving to drape his coat over the back of Grantaire’s shabby, single wooden chair in the corner. "Jehan gave it to me. He- was concerned."

"About?"

"He told me he thought you may not come tomorrow." Enjolras said bluntly.

Grantaire sighed, feeling less uncomfortable to have Enjolras standing in his squalid flat and more irritated at Jehan than was fair. "And so he sent you."

Enjolras raised his chin proudly. "He did not. I came myself to speak with you." He cleared his throat. "No matter how thoroughly unconvinced, we could use the support of every man we have."

Grantaire scoffed. "You would recruit even those who don't subscribe to your beliefs to die?"

"Not to die," Enjolras huffed. "To fight. Even you must want what is best for this country, if only for your own benefit."

"Perhaps." Grantaire shrugged. "I would think, if you believe so ardently in The Cause, you would not want such cynicism on your barricade."

"Are you trying to discourage me from taking you with us?"

"Never, I only ask to remind you I add nothing to your bright future." He swallowed. Enjolras moved across the room to peer out the single, grimy window at the dark street below. The blonde crossed his arms defensively across his chest, an unusual pose for him. "What then?"

Enjolras didn't move. "Come again?"

"You have an air of sadness around you." Grantaire paused. "I won't try to guess why."

Enjolras only chuckled. "You wouldn't, would you? You bring me sadness every day you discourage the revolution."

The artist frowned. "So you have come for another reason, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"You have not come to recruit me for tomorrow." Grantaire bit his lip. "Why, then?"

"Do I need reason?" Enjolras tapped his foot against the wooden, creaking floors nervously. This was- something was wrong.

"We are not friends, nor acquaintances. You have never shown me your favor any other time. Why spend your last evening with me in this old world before climbing the barricade to freedom?" Grantaire gesticulated sarcastically with one hand as he spoke, smiling slightly.

Enjolras did not respond as Grantaire thought he might. Instead the blonde looked to his feet, turning away from the window. "I don't quite have an answer myself," he said softly.

"You came here not to recruit me?" Grantaire asked, confused.

Instead of moving closer, Enjolras crossed the room to Grantaire's paint supplies. He ran one hand over the cans and bottles, in a less interested gesture and more nervous habit, back ramrod straight. He still did not turn around. "If you do not wish to accompany your comrades, I won't force you," he said casually.

"What would you have of me, then?" Grantaire asked.

Enjolras did not speak for an uncomfortably long amount of time. "You have claimed before to know much of histories, and literature, and man," he said at last.

Grantaire frowned at the odd statement. "I can reasonably debate my way through enough topics." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "What does it matter to you?"

No answer again. And then Enjolras continued, "Perhaps you have read the Greeks?" His voice was higher and quieter than usual.

Grantaire felt a heavy weight sink to his stomach. "Perhaps I have. And?"

Enjolras turned around at last, arms crossed, eyes downcast, blushing. He worried at his pretty lips with his perfect teeth and said nothing.

Grantaire felt heat rise to his own cheeks. "I see."

Enjolras glanced up at him. "Do not look at me that way. If I am unwanted, I will leave." Already he was unsubtly shifting towards the door.

The words came to Grantaire before he could stop them; this was all too much to deal with so late at night and with so little alcohol. "I did not say you are unwanted," he rushed out.

Enjolras stopped moving. "Very well," he said evenly, face still deliciously flushed.

Grantaire coughed. This couldn't possibly be real could it? "I had suspected you had a bit of Greece in you," he said, rather than focus on the impossibility of this whole situation.

Enjolras lifted his chin once more, narrowing his eyes and appraising Grantaire with his eyes that missed nothing. "How so?"

Grantaire thought quickly on how best to phrase his next words delicately. "The look you give when you see Combeferre. Even Courfeyrac, occasionally," he said carefully. "It has a kind of- loneliness in it."

Enjolras shifted. "I have dealt with loneliness all my life."

"And yet you still came here." Grantaire frowned. "To me."

"Yes."

"Why me? Why not Combeferre? As a friend and fellow Believer, it would seem he is a more desirable partner in these persuits."

"He is friend only to me," Enjolras answered carelessly. "I have heard you speak many times of your experience." He made a face. "With men and women both."

Grantaire grinned. "You come to me for my expertise?"

"Considering I have none, yes."

That stopped Grantaire in his tracks. "Are you trying to tell me you expect me to casually take your virginity?" he asked slowly.

"It matters not to me. At least I know you, rather than finding some street walker to do it for me," he said simply.

"Are you certain this is what you desire?" Grantaire moved closer to the blonde when it was obvious he had no intention of taking initiative.

It was a stupid question. Enjolras never did anything halfway; when he decided upon something he put his whole self into it. It was simultaneously one of the best and worst things about him.

"I am always sure of what I desire," Enjolras confirmed anyway.

"And you are certain you want this with me?" Grantaire stepped close enough to hear the gentle flow of the blonde's breath. As Enjolras was a few inches taller, it made for a strange position, with Grantaire looking up to meet those cool, cautious eyes.

"If I am to die tomorrow - and I assure you, I have no intention of dying - I do not want to have missed this," Enjolras said.

"Is this a new revelation?" Grantaire smiled a little.

"Do you consent?"

And the artist only laughed and took the blonde gently by the shoulders, tugging him down for what was undoubtedly his first kiss.

Enjolras let out a soft sound of surprise, and Grantaire took advantage of that to slowly coax his mouth open, but as soon as he slipped in his tongue the blonde pulled away with a gasp.

"What-"

"Calm down, just let me show you," Grantaire whispered.

"But what should I-"

"Here." Grantaire guided Enjolras’ hands to his own shoulders before pulling him back in for another kiss.

That time he gently wound his hands through those impossibly soft blonde curls, again opening their mouths and reveling in the little noise Enjolras made into the kiss, pressing himself closer, clumsy lips growing more confident as Grantaire showed him how to move.

It was Enjolras who was first to trail his hands down Grantaire's chest, fumbling with the buttons while trying to keep their mouths together. Grantaire laughed, pulling away and feeling only a little smugness at Enjolras' whine of disapproval.

"Come."

"Where are we going?"

"Undoubtedly you'll find this more comfortable laying down."

"Oh. Of course."

"Are you still certain?"

"Yes," Enjolras said a little too forcefully. "I want this."

Grantaire could have gotten off to the sight of Enjolras on his bed beneath him for the rest of the month. Even so, those blown pupils and kiss-bitten lips and flushed cheeks all flashed like annoying warnings, cautioning Grantaire against continuing. This certainly couldn't be real. Some sick dream created by too much absinthe-

"Grantaire," Enjolras grumbled, interrupting his inner monologue. Coming back to the moment at hand, the artist almost choked at the sight of Enjolras tugging off his cravat, swiftly unbuttoning his waistcoat. "If you wouldn't mind- kissing me again-" he huffed, shrugging out of the vest, "- and perhaps removing some clothing of your own?"

"Right, right," Grantaire muttered, immediately removing his shirt without a chance to feel self conscious of his lumpy muscles and scars and overall excess of body hair. Instead he knelt on either side of the blonde's body, kissing him again and stripping away his crisp, snowy white shirt.

Grantaire inhaled sharply at seeing Enjolras' bare abdomen, muscles carved sharply under the skin without creating a jagged effect, a slow flush creeping its way down his chest, the rapid rise and fall as his breaths quickened.

"What?" he managed to ask, breathless as he was. "Am I not pleasing to you?"

"God, you do have no idea, do you?" Grantaire muttered against Enjolras’ lips.

"Of what?"

"The effect you have on other people. _On me_."

Enjolras only moaned, high and musical and angelic when Grantaire’s mouth wandered down to his throat, leaving dark marks with his teeth and tongue. He gripped handfuls of inky black curls in his pale, beautiful hands, arching up into the reverent touch above him.

"Shall I?" Grantaire whispered, hands ghosting along the buckles and buttons on Enjolras’ trousers. The blonde responded by batting his hands away and quickly taking over, ungracefully shuffling out of the unyielding fabric. It was most likely the first thing Enjolras had ever done without his natural, casual grace.

Grantaire’s eyes flickered down for a millimeter of a second, trailing the vee between his hip joints, the gentle trail of fair hair before moving back up again. He leaned down to kiss Enjolras, but the blonde pushed him back, covering his chest with his arms.

"Stop that," Grantaire grumbled, taking his wrists in his hands.

Enjolras didn't budge, frowning up at him. "Grantaire, you are not nearly as naked as I."

Grantaire sighed, keeping his eyes on Enjolras' wary face as he fumbled with the buckles of his trousers, letting them drop. Grantaire kicked them unceremoniously off the mattress without a second glance.

Enjolras pushed himself up onto his elbows, beautiful hair tumbling onto his shoulders as he took in the full length of Grantaire’s body before him. He bit his lip, shifting his hips back slightly.

"Do not tell me now that you have changed your mind," Grantaire said dryly, pulling away and sitting up on his knees, regarding Enjolras with a careful gaze.

"No, no," Enjolras snapped, waving the thought away. "It's just- you may be disappointed soon enough."

"And why is that?"

"I do not know what I should do next."

Grantaire felt the urge to chuckle at the perplexed look on the blonde's face, and said, "I had assumed as much. Have you ever touched yourself?"

Even in the pale moonlight, Grantaire could see the dark blush across Enjolras' cheeks. "Not so often as others."

"Occasionally?"

"I am not quite the pure saint you've envisioned, apparently."

"No one ever is, truly. Here, I will show you."

Before Enjolras could ask any new questions, Grantaire took that soft, pale hand in his own, leading it to wrap gently around Enjolras' length. "Just move carefully, slowly. Curl your wrist, find what feels best."

Enjolras had a look on his face of utter concentration as Grantaire guided his hand up and down, slowly taking charge and shifting around, biting his lip.

"Well?" Grantaire watched with rapt attention as Enjolras clumsily fisted his hand around his cock, a fine pink flush spread from his cheeks to his chest.

"It-" Enjolras took a shaky breath, letting his head fall back to expose his throat. "It is different, now. With you here. I have never-" he swallowed sharply. "I have never finished on my own before." Grantaire’s brain short-circuited. "But now-"

"Now?" Grantaire asked breathlessly, taking in the pure pleasure radiating from Enjolras' face, the furrow of his brow and the hint of symmetrical dimples on either cheek.

Enjolras let out a small sigh, slowing his hand to a stop. "Now, I must stop. I do not want it to end this way," he assured Grantaire when he saw the look the artist gave him. "Just- let me-"

He grabbed at Grantaire, pulling him closer to get a hold of him, wrapping his hand gingerly around Grantaire’s cock and matching the pace he had set earlier. Grantaire watched the stumbling motion, stunned, not believing that it was _Enjolras_ ' pale hand wrapped around him. Grantaire leaned forward, shifting his weight to rest on one hand propped up by Enjolras' head, to allow him easier access.

"Well?" Enjolras asked, mimicking Grantaire’s tone from earlier.

"God, if you don't stop now I may not have the stamina to fuck you later," Grantaire groaned, pressing kisses to the blonde's throat.

Enjolras pulled back sharply. "Is that something you would like?"

Grantaire awkwardly shifted away as well. "I was under the impression it was what you wanted. Was I mistaken?"

"No. But you did not say yes, either, and I was unsure of how to broach the subject," Enjolras mused, resuming his work at taking Grantaire apart, clumsily and gently.

"Well, lucky you would not have had to," Grantaire sighed, leaning back down to capture Enjolras' lips with his, in a deep, bruising kiss. His other hand, tightly gripping the blonde's hip, slowly loosened and skimmed across his soft skin, taking him in hand and slowly, expertly stroking until Enjolras was reduced to a gasping, moaning mess.

After a few moments of that, Enjolras gently eased away, falling back to the mattress to catch his breath. His eyes flickered up to meet Grantaire’s. "I think we should continue, before this is ended prematurely."

Grantaire felt his stomach flip. "You still have a chance to back away. I would not be offended if you chose to end this here."

Even in his debauched, flustered state, Enjolras still managed a chilling glare. "I am also well read. I may not know everything, but I do understand the mechanics of it. Now, what do we do next?"

"Do you fancy yourself my pupil?"

"What, and you my Master?" Grantaire blushed darkly, even though he knew Enjolras did not recognize the double entendre. "If you would like to think of it in such a way, then I am more than willing to learn."

Grantaire smiled down at him and pressed a quick kiss to his temple before climbing off the sparse mattress. "Stay still."

He hurried to open the top drawer of his rather broken wardrobe, tossing aside empty and broken paint pots, splintering paint brushes, and a rather ugly cravat with a hideous pattern, given to him by Jehan, before finding the small glass bottle of oil he'd purchased only a few weeks before, for lonely nights at home. He wasn't rich enough to afford a whore every night, anyway, and not always lucky enough to charm a young man to bed.

He slowly climbed back over Enjolras, giving in to the urge to run his hands over his smooth, boyish chest. "You are quite beautiful, you know," he murmured softly.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "I assume that will help somehow."

"Mmm," Grantaire hummed in agreement, uncorking the oil. "You look absolutely delicious. I would love to paint you like this."

"I am unsure that I would have the patience for it," Enjolras answered. "My parents were always commissioning my portrait. It was terribly boring, if I recall correctly."

Grantaire smiled. "I believe I could make it interesting." He moved to kneel farther down the bed, taking hold of Enjolras' knees and pushing them up.

Enjolras frowned, squirming away. "What are you doing?"

"Surely you don't need me to explain this part. Spread your legs."

Enjolras gave him a calculating look before carefully opening his knees again, letting Grantaire slot himself in between them. "What are you going to do?"

Grantaire kissed him quickly. "Stop worrying so much." He poured a bit of the slippery oil onto his fingers and reached down, gently prodding until he found the telltale ring of muscle.

Enjolras breathed in sharply when Grantaire slowly began pressing forward, working at his tight opening. "Grantaire," he huffed, fisting his hands in the threadbare blankets.

"Yes?"

"That feels-" Grantaire pushed forward suddenly, burying his first finger up to the knuckle. Enjolras let out a strangled gasp, arching his back.

"Are you alright?" Enjolras' eyes fluttered closed, his even breaths coming out shaky. "I should have waited longer-" Grantaire mumbled, going to draw his hand away, but Enjolras gripped his shoulder tightly, staying him.

"Wait, please," he said softly.

Grantaire nodded, not trusting himself to say anything coherent. He gently eased his hand back and forth, stretching Enjolras ever so carefully, until the blonde permitted he move on with a quick jerk of his head. Grantaire kissed him gently as he eased a second finger in with the first.

Enjolras let out a soft cry, tipping his head back onto the bed. Grantaire groaned at the warm heat, like liquid velvet, and focused on the look of pure bliss on Enjolras' face, carefully scissoring his fingers.

By the time he had his first three fingers buried up inside him, Enjolras was gasping and moaning at every shift, every minute movement, which Grantaire took as a good sign. He gently began easing them back out, eyes trained on the blonde's face.

Enjolras' eyes snapped open, fumbling to grab Grantaire’s wrist. "Wait, why are you stopping?" he managed to ask, chest heaving and flushed to the very roots of his fine blonde hair.

"Because this won't be so pleasurable for you if I use only one hand, and if I tried this would be over quite soon," Grantaire said wryly.

"Had enough self abuse for a while?" Enjolras mumbled, relaxing back to the mattress.

Grantaire grinned. "I fear after tonight I shall be worse than ever."

"Perhaps not, if all goes well here," Enjolras murmured quietly, watching the ceiling above.

Rather than dwell on the implications of what the blonde had just said, Grantaire searched through the ratty sheets until he found the small bottle, almost half empty, and quickly poured the remaining contents into his palm. He glanced up to see Enjolras staring back at him, eyebrows slightly raised, the barest trace of a smile. It made him look younger, more open, and even if Grantaire never had the chance to paint him like this it wouldn't matter, because the intensity of the moment would be forever burned into his mind.

Rather than say that, Grantaire returned the smile and said, "Remember to relax." Enjolras nodded.

Grantaire took a deep breath and slicked himself up with the last of the oil before crawling in between Enjolras' legs, forcing him to spread them even wider. He ducked down and stole another kiss, long and slow, carefully lining himself up.

"What are you waiting for?" Enjolras asked, resting his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders.

"I suppose I'm waiting for you to come to your senses before you regret letting me do this to you," Grantaire sighed, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his throat.

Grantaire could feel Enjolras' silent laughter, only evident by the low vibrations from his chest. So, Enjolras was nervous, apparently. "Move on with it, well." Grantaire met his gaze. "Please?"

Enjolras fluttered his lashes delicately, probably more seductive than he had intended, and Grantaire decided he had run out of excuses. He pushed in.

The sly smile slipped from Enjolras' face, and he let out a rather loud cry, tensing up against Grantaire and squeezing his eyes closed. Grantaire let out a low groan, pushing forward until he was all the way in, Enjolras clenching desperately around him, spasming, hot and tight.

"Enjolras?" It was taking all of Grantaire’s willpower not to start pounding away, everything else be damned, only stayed by the set of Enjolras' jaw.

"Is it always painful?" Enjolras' voice was small, careful, and Grantaire could hardly believe this was the same man who could turn a crowd from lethargic to enflamed in seconds, rally the masses and calm the furious.

"Relax, seizing up only makes it worse," Grantaire whispered, kissing the blonde's chest and tracing soothing circles onto his skin. "You will get used to it in time."

"Keep moving, then."

Grantaire pulled out slightly, thrusting forward, taking short, quick breaths to calm himself, lest Enjolras think he was being taken advantage of. He felt him let out a sharp breath as Grantaire rocked in and out, slowly so he could get used to him.

Despite it feeling like the best fuck he'd ever had, with Enjolras involuntary clenching and spasming around him, he tried to slow down, smothering his soft moans and gasps, mouthing along Enjolras' jaw. Enjolras was trembling slightly, his breath the only sound that filled the room, accompanied by Grantaire’s gentle moans, the rustling of their bodies against the mattress.

It wasn't long before Enjolras finally began to relax, bringing his arms up to wrap around Grantaire’s broad shoulders, letting out a quiet moan. "Again," Enjolras whispered, so quiet that if Grantaire hadn't been so close he would never have heard it.

"Are you comfortable?" Grantaire asked, tucking his forehead into the crook of Enjolras' neck.

"Yes," Enjolras whimpered, his voice hitching when Grantaire thrust back in, rougher than before, bringing his long legs up to wrap around Grantaire’s waist.

Grantaire gripped his hips tightly, pausing to catch his breath before drawing out completely and slamming back in, moaning. Enjolras cried out sharply, followed by a sharp  _"God!"_ Grantaire smiled a little at how quick Enjolras was to blasphemy, deciding that, in the eyes of the church, that was probably the least vicious sin in the room as he pounded into the man below him, drawing out a succession of groans and shouts.

"The other residents of my building will be pounding down the door soon enough," Grantaire chuckled, sneaking a hand in between their bodies to grip Enjolras' cock, stroking him off quickly.

In answer, Enjolras moaned louder, arching his back and scratching his nails against Grantaire’s skin. Grantaire wondered how they had gotten to this place - only minutes before, Enjolras had looked like an angel, the very definition of purity and chastity; now, he was a hypnotizing incubus, gold hair fanned against the cheap pillows, pale skin glowing in the moonlight, cheeks a rosy flush. Grantaire couldn't help but kiss him again, rougher, harder, enjoying the blonde's loud moans. It was like animal ferocity, kissing him with something akin to possessiveness, squeezing him closer and closer still until he could hear the pounding of his heart, the rush of breath through his kiss-bitten lips.

Enjolras seemed oblivious to his preoccupation, long lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks, lips parted slightly, and Grantaire found himself wishing for the first time that he lived in a tidy apartment with clean sheets and a new bed, so that Enjolras would not have to lose his virginity on a cheap mattress in a dingy room in the center of the city. It was hardly what anyone's dreams were made of, and certainly not what this angel of a man deserved.

Grantaire felt himself drawn back to earth as the pressure of Enjolras clenching around him grew, a flash of heat running across his skin as Enjolras breathlessly called his name, pleasure written in every line of his beautiful face.

"Grantaire- please, God, please," he moaned, and Grantaire sped up his hand to match the pace of his hips. Enjolras clutched him closer, breath quickening. "What-" he gasped, but cut himself off with a wail, arching his back until Grantaire was supporting almost his entire weight, a sudden spurt of wet warmth between their chests.

Grantaire surged forward to kiss him again, swallowing his broken moans as he fucked into Enjolras, rougher than before, riding out the intense waves of his orgasm.

Enjolras was whimpering softly, unconsciously tugging at Grantaire’s messy curls. "Please," he whispered, tightening his legs around him.

At the sound of his voice, so small and sweet, Grantaire thrust forward as deep as he could go, muffling his grunt as he spilled inside Enjolras, coming harder than he ever had before.

For a few minutes, all Grantaire could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears, his vision swimming. Enjolras brought him back to the present moment when he shivered slightly, his hand tracing abstract circles and swirls onto the skin of his sweat-slicked back. Grantaire slowly pushed himself off of him and gently pulled out, taking care to avoid meeting Enjolras' eyes.

When he glanced up at him, Enjolras raised one sharp eyebrow, looking dignified enough for a person covered in sweat and come. "So," he said softly, loosening his thighs from around Grantaire’s waist. Enjolras caught his hand, and the artist smiled, giving him a chaste kiss on his soft lips.

Grantaire carefully climbed off the bed, stretching out his limbs, most of which felt like water, and grabbed his shirt off the floor, deeming it clean enough. He crawled back over Enjolras, using the shirt to gently wipe the mess from Enjolras' chest and thighs, seeing him wince slightly from the sensitivity.

"So, what do you think? Can you now peacefully go to your death?" Grantaire asked sarcastically, giving himself a cursory wipe before tossing the already unfortunate shirt back to the floor.

The blonde rolled his eyes, grabbing Grantaire and tugging him down to lay beside him. "We are not going to die, Grantaire. The people will rise and stand with us. You will see."

Grantaire awkwardly curled onto his side, pulling Enjolras closer to cuddle him from behind. The bed was more than too small for two; it barely fit Grantaire alone at the best of times. "Can you be certain of that?"

Enjolras didn't answer, instead pulling Grantaire's arm to wrap around his midriff, body heavy and warm against his companion. "I suppose you would like me to go now?" he asked after a while, making no move to get up.

Grantaire shook his head slightly. "I would not want you to brave the streets of Paris so late at night, and all by yourself. This neighborhood is not quite as forgiving as yours, I daresay, and even in the boudoir I am more gentlemanly than that."

Enjolras smiled despite himself. "You don't strike me as the type to allow your conquests a place to sleep."

"Well, here we are." Grantaire sat up halfway, taking a moment to rake his eyes over Enjolras' body. "I will take the floor, no doubt that you will find the bed more suitable, no matter how dingy-"

"I did not come here tonight to ask for sex and steal your bed," Enjolras grumbled, interrupting him. "Now, lay down."

Grantaire hid his smile and pulled Enjolras flush to his chest, shifting up slightly in order to tuck his chin on top of Enjolras' head, breathing deeply.

"You don't do anything halfway, do you?" he heard Enjolras ask sleepily, and before he could answer, a familiar, foggy darkness overcame him.

*

Morning seemed to come far too early and far too quickly, the very first rays of light prying at his eyes in tandem with the gentle movements of Enjolras sitting up in bed. Grantaire blinked blearily up at him, watching him rub his eyes with the heel of his hand, muscles rippling subtly under the smooth skin of his back.

"I tried not to wake you," Enjolras said conversationally, and Grantaire couldn't help but smile at the casual tone of his voice.

"I appreciate the thought," he said, voice rough from sleep.

"I must be leaving now," Enjolras continued, standing to collect his clothes from the floor, a task that had little dignity in it, as Grantaire well knew.

"The sun has not yet near risen."

"I promised to meet the others early this morning, and even leaving now I will be late."

"They will never suspect you were here," Grantaire muttered, feeling only slightly bitter.

"Would you rather I tell them all?" Enjolras asked, the corner of his mouth tugging up wryly.

Grantaire stood up, trying to keep himself hidden enough until he located his trousers. There was something to be said for the change daylight made in a situation, and Enjolras didn't need to see any more this morning than he already had. Grantaire could at least offer him that service.

It was silent until Enjolras was lacing up his boots, seated on the edge of the bed and leaning forward. "So, will you be joining us, then?" he asked.

Grantaire almost laughed. "Was that what this was? You trade me one night, and I give my able body to the rebellion?"

Enjolras glanced up. "No. They are unrelated issues. I was only wondering if you had changed your mind."

Grantaire shook his head, smiling as he tucked in his shirt tails messily, scanning the floor for his waistcoat. "I thought you had finished with the pretenses. You came here for a certain experience, which I provided, and now you must go lead the people of France to a new world. I, however, must masquerade myself as something of a successful artist to entertain passerby." He located the vest with a triumphant grin, grabbing it and kicking his other, soiled shirt farther under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

Enjolras sat up, finished with his boots, his marble face fixed into one of confusion. "It was not wholly a pretense. I truly wish you would come with us."

"Why should you? You seem to be a smart man, and I have made no secret in the past of my disinterest in your revolution." Grantaire ran a hand through his hair, making a face at it's limp, dead texture. He really could use a bath sometime soon. "There is no point in dying for the sake of people I don't know, people who would not raise a finger to help me in return," he finished with a vague gesture, unlike his usual grand ones, searching the contents of a drawer until he found his pomade.

Enjolras stood up, crossing the room to stand beside him. "Do you value your life highly?" He helped himself to some of the thick, waxy substance, looking down at Grantaire curiously, as if he truly did not understand him. "I know you do not."

Grantaire shrugged. "You are correct. But still, braver men than me would die of martyrdom. I am content here to end my miserable life by myself."

"I am not a martyr," Enjolras said stubbornly.

"You are. But you don't intend to die, yet, anyway, and undoubtedly you will emerge unscathed as the darling of all France." Grantaire shot him a wink before turning to kick his boots out from under the wardrobe.

"I don't strive for fame or gratitude. Even you listen enough to know that."

"What do you want from me, then?" Grantaire stepped into his scuffed shoes, glancing at the other man.

"I want you to put aside your mask of indifference. I know you care, though you pretend you don't." Enjolras rested his hands on his hips in a pose that could only remind Grantaire of a mother scolding a small child, and the thought made him smile. "Regardless of how arrogant you must think I am, I know you care for the rest of les Amis. They are your friends, perhaps even more so than mine, and it would wound you to see them gone."

"So you admit there is a chance of death?" Grantaire teased, choosing only to take that small portion of what Enjolras had said.

"There is always a chance of death in this country, every time you step out the front door." Grantaire met his eyes carelessly, giving him a cheeky smile, and though Enjolras sighed, as if thoroughly taxed by Grantaire, he did not raise his voice as he usually did. This morning, it seemed it would be harder to get a rise out of him. "If you will not do this for me, then at least do this for them."

"I will do whatever you ask," Grantaire said, an offhand comment he didn't expect Enjolras to latch on to.

Enjolras gave him a long look, the sadness in his eyes from the night before returned, even stronger in force now, and Grantaire felt his sass wither. "I wish you wouldn't," the blonde said softly.

Grantaire could not think of anything to say. The depth of Enjolras' eyes was hard to look at, for danger of drowning in them, and he carried an expression that Grantaire couldn't begin to describe. Sad, but resigned. Expectant. He shoved his hands in his pockets and said nothing. Conversation had come easily before, always had, but one night together and Enjolras was starting to get the better of him.

When it was obvious that all Grantaire had to offer was silence, Enjolras pursed his lips and moved forward, until their bodies almost touched, his lips brushing slightly against Grantaire’s ear. "Think on it, if only for a moment, before you waste yourself on alcohol. You become far less pleasant when you do."

Enjolras gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, one of companionship that seemed out of place for the two. They were not friends, by any stretch of imagination, yet they seemed to have skipped into another realm entirely.

Grantaire stayed silent, and Enjolras smiled ruefully and left.

*

"Grantaire, my friend! How excellent it is to see you here! We were convinced you were not coming!"

Grantaire met Jehan's enthusiasm with a forced smile and open arms. "Prouvaire. You are quite inspiring in such a place. The world is falling into chaos around you, yet you look vibrant as ever."

A giant grin split Jehan's face. "It _is_ exciting, isn't it. Have you seen our barricade?" He gestured to the enormous piles of furniture, blocking every entrance to the streets of the Rue de la Chanvrerie. "Bossuet practically robbed the omnibus driver to get that monolith," he continued, pointing out the giant coach at the front of the largest barricade.

Grantaire smiled at his enthusiasm. "I suppose I would have been a fool to miss such a performance."

Jehan grasped his hand, drawing him out of the shade of the Corithe, towards a patch of torn up cobblestones. "Don't be so dour, we are pleased to welcome you. Joly had said you were acting quite melancholy earlier."

Grantaire reflected on his behavior earlier, in the Corinthe with Joly and Bossuet, and felt only a little guilt, which he quickly pawned off on the confusion from the previous night. "I won't lie to you, I have had more to drink this morning than is reasonable," he admitted. _With good excuse._

Jehan arched his delicate eyebrows. "Enjolras will not be pleased."

"I know it," Grantaire said, only a little bitter. "He has told me as much earlier."

Jehan cocked his head to the side, green eyes widening. "You have been talking with Enjolras today?" he asked incredulously.

Grantaire kicked himself mentally, scrambling for some excuse. "No, no, I only meant I have heard enough of his lectures before. You know how he can be."

Jehan nodded sagely. "Truly. You should come with me. We are taking inventory. You would be a help to us."

"I fear not. My arbitrary knowledge of mathematics may only hinder you, in this case. You would be better off without me. Have you seen our fearless leader, by any chance?"

Jehan became thoughtful. "I believe he went into the wine shop only a few moments ago. Why?"

"Masochism," Grantaire answered coyly, met with his friend's knowing smile. "I will see you soon, dear Prouvaire."

"Don't stray far."

Grantaire gave a single nod, to which Jehan winked and left, joining a group of men young and old by the largest barricade, where ammunition and gunpowder and even a cannon filched from the Guard Armory stood, ready to be distributed and used accordingly. Grantaire's stomach twisted at the thought, and he looked away.

All in all, Bossuet had been right to recommend the revolt stay in the roundabout by the Corithe, where they were sure to be noticed by the police and soon the National Guard. If that could be called a good thing. All these hopeful young men, with their entire lives before them, older ones with children and wives to think of, bills to pay. And for what, at the end of the day? The rise of a new monarchy? Another Emperor, come to claim the people? How fucking pointless these little revolutions were.

Grantaire shook away his petty thoughts, averting his eyes from the piles of furniture and eager talk. It sickened him just to think of it.

He wasn't even sure why he'd come at all. He'd made it as far as the Corinthe before stopping, and then Courfeyrac had brought the rebellion right outside his window, and through Bossuet's intervention he'd found that the mountain had come to Mohammad after all. How ironic. He supposed it must be a masochistic streak a mile wide that had possesed him to walk down the stairs and into the streets, where the excitement of the insurrection had already taken place, replaced now by hushed whispers of numbers and arms and strategy, the rattle of shoes against the cobbles. He'd already set himself on becoming drunk and leaving his friends to their fate. The world was not having it that day, apparently, and when he did not move the battle was brought to him. Grantaire turned back to the wine shop.

Inside, the lights were a bit brighter with the rain stopped outside, more candles lit upon the tables that remained inside. Grantaire figured Hucheloup had gone back upstairs in her despair, and so it was no problem at all to locate Enjolras at the far end of the room, poring over some map or another with Combeferre and a man Grantaire did not recognize.

Though he made virtually no noise upon his entrance, Enjolras still looked up, blue eyes meeting blue eyes across the room, and Grantaire watched that beautiful face turn blank and serious. He listened as Enjolras quickly dismissed his two compatriots.

"Excuse me, it appears I have business elsewhere," he muttered. Both men mumbled in acknowledgement, neither moving away from their work, although Combeferre glanced up briefly enough to glimpse Grantaire before returning to his map, spectacles glinting in the firelight.

"So, you have come after all," Enjolras said as soon as he was close enough that the other two would not hear, looking radiant and ethereal as ever in a fitted red jacket, his patriotic rosette pinned proudly over his heart. A glimpse of a carbine was visible, held at his waist.

"Are you surprised?" Grantaire could not decide whether to come closer or step back, and settled for rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I am. I did not think I had persuaded you."

"Your revolution ended up right outside my door. Quite the coincidence. I could not go home unless I walked outside, and so here I am."

"You did not want to come at all." Enjolras had the grace to sound almost disappointed.

"You sent that gamin to Bossuet. You reasoned Joly as sick and me as drunk, and you sent your message to Bossuet."

"So? I can smell the wine on your breath. Was I mistaken?"

"I would have gone to the funeral, if you had sent for me," Grantaire said lowly, eyes on the floor. "I would have gone with you, but you did not call for me."

"Don't act so offended. I needed to make sure my message was carried out, and I could not be certain you would understand."

Grantaire crossed his arms, tilting his head to look Enjolras in the eye. The blonde had a faint freckle on his cheek, just above his left dimple, a small flaw in his otherwise perfect skin. "Do you think you will miss it?" he asked, feeling a blush rise to his already ruddy cheeks at his own brazenness.

Enjolras stared at him, bemused. "What?"

Grantaire blinked up at him, tongue too leaden to continue speaking.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras was still looking for an answer.

Grantaire looked to the floor again. "You told me you did not want to have missed it, if you were to die today or tomorrow. So, now I ask you: do you think you will miss it?"

Realization dawned on Enjolras' face, and he crossed his arms as well. "I cannot miss what I have only just begun to know," he said softly.

Grantaire felt the floor drop out from beneath him, a sudden weight on his heart. He tried to mask his emotions, looking away, anywhere but at the man before him, biting his lip so hard he could taste blood. "I see," he said, as evenly as he could.

When it looked like Enjolras was about to speak again Grantaire held up his hand, stopping him, and managed to say, "I must go find Prouvaire. He requested my assistance."

Grantaire turned around, feet feeling too big, shame burning inside him. How stupid he was. Enjolras was an angel, a gift to humankind, a bird soaring far above, and Grantaire was merely a toad on the ground. Of course Enjolras would not miss such base desires. There was room enough in his heart for his country, and no more. It was silly to assume otherwise. Outside the wine shop, Grantaire made eye contact with Bahorel, who smiled enthusiastically and waved him over to the ammunitions. Grantaire sighed and went to meet him.

*

Night was already falling by the time Grantaire woke up, slumped over his tiny table in the Corinthe, awoken by the sounds of someone trying to enter quietly and failing miserably. Grantaire straightened up, squinting his eyes against the last rays of sun barely peeping over the tops of the buildings outside. The drink he'd overindulged in after his last conversation with Enjolras made his head spin, a heavy fog settled over everything.

He watched the tall blonde intruder come closer, his vision focusing, and- of course.

"You again?" he grumbled, rubbing the sand from his eyes, no longer concerned with looking acceptable.

Enjolras frowned down at him, a hint of compassion in the curve of his cheek. "I woke you."

"Would it help to know I have had too much drink?" Grantaire sighed, pushing away an empty bottle and dragging a half empty one closer.

"No." Enjolras moved to stand beside him, as if he were cornering his hungover prey in the corner of the wine shop. Grantaire wished he would go away and spare him the humiliation.

"What is it?" he snapped, irritable as ever.

Enjolras hesitated, if only for the briefest moment. "I insulted you earlier," he said firmly, as if he had just come to that epiphany, staring down Grantaire, hands on his hips.

Grantaire snorted derisively and raised his bottle in a phantom toast. "Nay, it was not an insult that was undeserved."

"Fine then, I injured your feelings."

"My tender emotions have been bruised before, and certainly by the likes of you. It matters not." Grantaire took a swig.

"Why is now different?"

"It did not matter before," Grantaire said simply, shrugging.

Enjolras pursed his lips. "I still apologize. I offended you unjustly."

"There is no need to apologize. You cannot offend me," the drunk said brashly, draining his bottle and tossing it upon the table.

Enjolras relented with a roll of his eyes. "Very well."

Grantaire looked up at him intensely. "Still, you should swear by me something."

Enjolras sighed and frowned again. "What do you want?"

Grantaire's eyes were soft, tender, serious. He leaned closer to the blonde. "Swear you will not leave without me. Swear you will let me stay by you until the time comes."

Enjolras proudly tossed his hair, curls cascading. "You will do as you wish. I must go," he said curtly.

Grantaire sat back, feeling disgusted once more. "Go, then." He turned to a new bottle.

It was quiet, the gentle creak of the floorboards harmonizing with the gentle wind and rain, the warble of voices outside. Enjolras had yet to move.

"You said you were going elsewhere." Grantaire snapped, hands anxiously playing with an abandoned cork on the tabletop.

He looked up again, scanning that perfect face. Enjolras was worrying thoughtfully at his lip, eyes focused on Grantaire.

"Do you think you are capable of serious talks at the moment?" he asked, drawing out a chair and taking a seat.

Grantaire groaned, tilting his head back. "What now, Apollo, haven't you tortured us mere mortals enough for one day?" he complained.

"Silence, Grantaire, be serious and listen." Enjolras' voice was sharp, some of that magical force removed from his tone. He was saddened by the outcome of the skirmish earlier, on the barricade against a small number of Guardsmen, but then, he had a backbone and hid his feelings well, where Grantaire did not. A cloudy day could sink Grantaire to depression.

"I have had a terrible day, Apollo, and if you would not mind I would like you to make this quick," he sighed. "I am groggy and melancholic, and I have no strength to argue with you anymore." Enjolras was quiet, contemplative, and Grantaire looked up at him, the last of the drizzling rainfall turning the windows behind them to a blurry mess. "Well?"

"You asked if I would miss it," Enjolras said bluntly.

Grantaire huffed. "I recall I did. And what of it?"

"I think- I've decided after careful thought. I will. Miss it, I mean."

Grantaire laughed meanly, looking back to the table and flicking the cork across the room, slumped low in his chair. "Do you think?"

"Enough, I am baring my heart to you," Enjolras said sharply, voice filled with raw emotion. "I will not think of a friend or common stranger, Grantaire, only you will hold what I long for."

Grantaire opened his eyes to see that Enjolras had come closer, leaning against the table, close enough that Grantaire could almost smell the gunpowder on his hair. "Pardon?" he asked stupidly.

Enjolras sighed in a way that made Grantaire feel like a terrible nuisance. "I will not miss this with anyone but you. I will not-" he seemed to struggle with his words. " _-feel_ this with anyone but you."

Grantaire let the roughly-hewn chair back hold up his body. He was too exhausted to deal with this right now. "Feel what, pray tell? I was unaware marble knew emotion," he said casually.

Instead of snapping again, Enjolras looked away, and the dim light betrayed his slight blush. "Do not make me say it. I couldn't say it."

Grantaire felt some of the pressure on his heart lessen. What was that verse Jehan always used to quote? He couldn't quite remember. He leaned closer to the other man, feeling each individual sense as it sharpened, the alcohol fading from his mind as if it never had existed. "Why? Say it to make it real, Apollo."

Enjolras paused. "Grantaire-"

"Just say it."

There was only silence. As an afterthought, he added, "Please."

Enjolras let out a long breath. "I desire you. That is all. I see you, and you are infuriating, an enigma mated to a hyperbole sent to break me down day after day. I desire that, I desire the spark of your eyes when you dare to defy me, I desire the way you walk and the way you speak, I hate the way you laugh and how it never fails to distract me." He was ranting by now nearly shouting, and if Grantaire were not so sure this was some hallucination, he might expect someone to come find them. "I did not know why, before. That was the worst part. I do not like distraction and you, Grantaire, are the worst distraction I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I did not realize until just now."

Grantaire sat there dumbly, staring at the blonde before him. "Realize?" he managed to ask.

Enjolras blushed like a maiden. "I did not realize until now, when you looked at me like another disappointment. I do not like that. Not even because I have failed your expectations, but because you have been wronged. I do not understand why I should care. I did not know I did before."

Grantaire couldn't breathe. "And now?"

"I believe I do," Enjolras whispered.

Grantaire could only sit there, his mouth half hanging open, the chair back digging into his spine.

Enjolras blinked at him. "Have you no response?  Nothing at all? Did you expect something different?" His eyes were wide, nearly anxious, brows raised high.

Grantaire sucked in a deep breath. "I expect nothing from you, Enjolras, you are unpredictable."

A strange look flickered over his face. One of fondness and peace. "You have called me Enjolras."

Grantaire stared at him warily. "So?"

"You have never called me Enjolras before," he said, slight wonder in his voice.

Grantaire shrugged, eyes wide, finding that revelation to be the least of his concerns at the moment. "I suppose not," he said. "It would be wrong to sully your name, when you have been stripped of enough by me."

Enjolras shook his head, a hint of his dimples showing. His teeth were so white, and straight. "I would rather you used my name when addressing me," he said, in a voice that was meant to be teasing.

Grantaire had pains in his chest. Was he dying? Perhaps this was it, the alcohol and paint fumes had finally gotten to him. Or some benevolent god above was removing him from the planet, calling him home before he could get his hopes up too high. "Why?"

Enjolras shrugged carelessly. "I like how it sounds."

"It sounds like anything else cursed to fall from my mouth."

The blonde shook his head, curls bouncing along with the movement. "No. It does not. That's nice- you have used my name." He gave a real, albeit small, smile. In a moment of blind artistic inspiration, Grantaire noted the crinkle of his eyes, his ironically deep smile lines.

"Would you hear it again?" Grantaire asked breathlessly, lost in those rows of pearly teeth.

"Yes."

"Enjolras..." the man in question swallowed hard. "Do you truly mean what you have said?" Grantaire couldn't help but ask, hearing the desperation in his voice.

"Always. Indefinitely. For whatever reason." Enjolras' smile faded slightly, relaxing into a fond expression.

"Then kiss me."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, and before Grantaire could possibly retract his offer Enjolras lunged foward, capturing his lips with his own.

Grantaire sighed gently into the kiss, lifting one hand to cradle the side of Enjolras' jaw. He was still so young, so fresh, he didn't even yet have a hint of stubble. Grantaire brushed away those thoughts, kissing him deeper.

It was different to do this way, it felt different from the night before, now out in the open where they could be caught at any time. When Enjolras willingly parted his lips, remembering his lessons from earlier, Grantaire wished he could have an entire audience cheering them on, watching the way Enjolras' body gently reacted to Grantaire's hands over his chest. He was still shy, in the way he hesitantly rested his hands on the artist's waist, leaning halfway out of his chair, bumping their noses together lightly, accompanied by light laughter.

Grantaire pulled away, smiling at Enjolras' angelic flush, his lips already red and perfect. "I believe I feel the same way," he murmured, pulling Enjolras back in for another round. He slowly licked his way into his mouth, feeling the gentle give of his lips and admiring his whimpering and small shivers, thinking about how, up until just yesterday, this beautiful boy had been a virgin.

Enjolras moved his hands to rest on Grantaire’s shoulders, eyes closed tightly and chest heaving. "Grantaire," he whispered, breaking the kiss. Grantaire immediately went to work on his exposed throat, pale and smooth as marble, leaving an array of interesting marks that might be easily covered by a cravat, if it didn't happen that Enjolras had long lost his cravat through the tumultuous events of the day. "Grantaire," he whispered again, iron voice going breathy. "I need-"

"What?" Grantaire asked, nuzzling over Enjolras' idealized collarbones, sloping so gracefully, perfectly aligned with the natural shape of his hips. "What do you need?"

Enjolras made a small, restless sound, tugging him back up for another kiss, but Grantaire resisted, taking him by the jaw gently and forcing their eyes to meet. "What do you need?" he asked again, mouth going dry at the hungry look on the blonde's face, pupils blown wide and cheeks pink, visible even in the dim wine shop.

"Perhaps my first time need not be the last," Enjolras said quietly. "Perhaps you would be willing to oblige me again?"

Grantaire smiled slightly, and wrapped his arms around the leader, tugging him from his perch on the very edge of his chair to straddle the artist's lap, stopping his small sound of surprise and replacing it with a bruising kiss, hoping that was a _yes_ enough for the other man.

"What would you have me do?" Grantaire asked when he pulled away slightly to catch his breath. "I am afraid it would be indecorous of us to carry on here, where any other might find us." To emphasize his point, he rolled his hips upward, locking together with Enjolras' and enjoying his high-pitched moan as he tossed his head back.

Grantaire did it again, taking care to plant his feet firmly on the ground and wrap Enjolras tightly in his arms, pressing his lips to the hollow of that beautiful, silvery throat. As he did, he could feel the vibrations of Enjolras gasping and moaning, obviously hard in his trousers as he rocked helplessly against Grantaire.

The artist glanced up to see the completely blissed out look on Enjolras' face, the upward knit of his brow and the way he tugged his lower lip between his teeth. "Ah, now I must be certain that we move to the shadows, for if another man were to glimpse you like this he couldn't help but join in," Grantaire teased lightly, hoping that his voice had more humor and less lust, although he wasn't sure it did.

Even in his deliciously debauched state, Enjolras still managed a glare down at Grantaire, hips shifting restlessly. "Don't be crude," he muttered. There was a moment of shuddering breaths and stifled moans, Grantaire gently rocking Enjolras against him, the muffled sounds of laughter and whispered talk from outside. Enjolras tucked his face into Grantaire’s neck. "We might move into the back room," he whispered, heart hammering. "It will be darker and-" he let out a quiet gasp when Grantaire yanked his hips down roughly to meet him, "- we would close the door."

Grantaire nodded. "And you have no work outside?"

"I have appointed Courfeyrac as watchmen. The others are resting. We will not be missed."

Grantaire grinned at him, like a predator at its prey, and stood swiftly with Enjolras still in his arms. The blonde stumbled and Grantaire carefully let him back down to stand on his own. It wasn't so much that Enjolras was too heavy to carry - Grantaire’s short-stick and fencing and boxing had made sure of that - but rather that his legs were so awkwardly long, making him taller and harder to carry for a short, stocky person like Grantaire. Instead, he let Enjolras stand on his own, and the blonde promptly threw himself at Grantaire again, sealing their lips together in one if their most impassioned kisses yet, wrapping his arms around his neck. Grantaire pulled him closer by the waist, enjoying the feel of his soft, warm body, lightly trailing a hand down to trace the vee of his hips-

Enjolras whimpered, tangling his hands through those inky black curls and using his leverage and sinful mouth to drag Grantaire back into the shadows of the inner wine shop, where most of the lanterns had been taken or shattered, leaving only the light from the streets outside to cast a faint glow into the room.

They got as far as the back wall before Grantaire’s wandering hand reached the front of Enjolras' trousers, and all hope of making it to the next room was abandoned in his accompanying whimper. His head thunked loudly against the wall as Grantaire crowded him against it, as far as they could get from the streets outside.

"So? How do you want me?" Grantaire murmured, his lips moving along the shell of Enjolras' ear as his hands did sinful things under the untucked parts of his shirt.

Enjolras' brain felt like it was slowly melting. It was an odd experience, something he hadn't known had been possible. Like how he had never had need of physical pleasure until he had Grantaire’s hands on him. Like how he hadn't known he could ever love anyone until he was suddenly declaring it. He had been unable to see these most important things, always so concerned with being methodical and serious and choosing the more logical answer. He'd unknowingly chosen the path of least resistance, and it had taken him so long to realize the life he was living wasn't full at all.

 _That raving lunatic Pontmercy was right about one thing,_ Enjolras thought as bitterly as he could under the reverent touch of Grantaire’s hands.

"You are well aware I am not so educated as you," Enjolras sighed into his mouth, pulling away as much as he could, pressed tightly to the wall. "Tell me what to do."

The corner of Grantaire’s thin lips quirked into an impish grin, and he nodded, eyes twinkling despite his blown pupils, leaving only a thin ring of greyish blue around the edges. "Stay here," he instructed.

He hurried across the room, grabbing the chair he had occupied earlier as Enjolras caught his breath in the corner. He dragged the flimsy thing back over, tugging Enjolras down to sit.

"I have not read anything like this," Enjolras said skeptically.

"No. You are a Republican," Grantaire answered cheekily. "Remove your shirt, and your waistcoat."

"Ever the romantic." Enjolras did as he said. "I won't be naked by myself, Grantaire," he warned. Grantaire quickly undid the front of his vest and shirts, eyes drinking in the sight of that unending skin before him, a sight he'd never imagined getting to see again.

"I do not see how this will work, if I am sitting," Enjolras continued as Grantaire quickly knelt down to undo the buttons and buckles on his trousers, still hesitant about revealing himself so. When they were unfastened, Grantaire gave Enjolras' pants a sharp tug, pulling them halfway down his shins and nearly throwing Enjolras out of the chair in the process. "Christ," Enjolras swore, gripping the chair for support.

"Shouldn't you also-?" Enjolras began hesitantly, when Grantaire only shuffled to the space between his thighs.

Grantaire shushed him. "You will enjoy this. Just let it be."

Enjolras nodded, eyes wide and confused, but precious and trusting. Grantaire ran his hands over the soft skin of his legs before pressing one quick kiss to the insides of his thighs, a deliciously unorthodox feeling for the blonde. Grantaire grinned up at him and gripped his hard cock, taking the tip into his mouth.

Enjolras wailed loudly, arching his back and knocking his head into the wall again. His voice became a slur of unintelligible cries and whines at the gentle caress of Grantaire’s tongue against his length, a plethora of new, overwhelming sensations completely different from the previous night, except not so different at all. He'd had wine, on a few occasions, although undoubtedly less so than Grantaire, and he couldn't see how any alcohol could be more intoxicating than the impossibly hot, wet heat of Grantaire’s mouth around his cock.

Grantaire took a deep breath and allowed his jaw to relax, pushing forward until he had taken his full length into his throat, swallowing tightly around him. Enjolras' hips were already twitching weakly, searching for more, his hands gripping the edge of the chair with white knuckles. Grantaire pulled off with a _pop_ , smiling at the way Enjolras lifted his hips slightly to follow the movement, crying out in disappointment at the loss.

"Here." Grantaire's voice came out slightly rough as he pried Enjolras' hands off the chair. "Hold onto my hair, for more control." Enjolras looked down at him through heavy-lidded eyes, panting sharply, and nodded, moaning as Grantaire sucked him back down.

He soon realized the evil intentions of Grantaire’s plan when he began groaning louder, trying desperately to muffle the sounds with one hand while guiding Grantaire’s head with the other. His hips bucked forward of their own accord when Grantaire pulled back slightly to jerk off the base of his cock, keeping the tip firmly in his mouth. "Grantaire- _God, Grantaire-_ " he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. "I- I think I- _please, God, please-_ "

Grantaire recognized the moaning noises of Enjolras about to come and took his hand away, using both to pin down Enjolras' hips, stopping all movement and forcing him to take what he was given as Grantaire worked mercilessly over him, humming slightly so that the vibrations would travel up through to Enjolras. They obviously did, as he tensed up suddenly, legs struggling in the confines of his half-removed trousers.

Enjolras arched his back severely, yanking at Grantaire’s hair sharply and coming hard, filling his mouth with his hot seed and muffling ragged cry with his fist, eyes squeezed closed and hips twitching upwards slightly.

Grantaire pulled off gently, swallowing Enjolras' load and rubbing the blonde's thighs gently as he came down from his high, chest and cheeks flushed pink and eyes fluttering open blearily, slumped down in his chair.

It was quiet then, Grantaire basking in the sight of post-coital Enjolras, one of the more divine versions of him, and Enjolras himself attempting to catch his breath.

"Your Greeks never mentioned blow jobs, I take it?" Grantaire winked up at him.

If it was possible, Enjolras blushed deeper. "Never in much detail," he said. "Although I'm sure any attempts were forgone. Paper would do it shame. It cannot be described," Enjolras rambled. Apparently orgasm left him tender and full of chatter, a fact that made Grantaire’s heart bubble up with happiness.

Enjolras slowly sat up, reaching for Grantaire and pulling him to stand. Grantaire silently thanked him for giving his knees a reprieve from the hard, wooden floors, and started when Enjolras began to undo his pants.

"That's not necessary," he began, but Enjolras cut him off by pulling out his painfully hard cock and giving one firm stroke, still trying to learn how best to hold him. Even so, Grantaire felt like his knees might buckle at his tentative touch.

The sounds of Grantaire’s quiet panting and groans filled the room, unaccompanied, as Enjolras slowly stroked him off. He was still slightly clumsy, working over someone else, which only aroused Grantaire more to his innocence. He felt a slight wave of guilt, deriving pleasure from Enjolras' inexperience, but the other seemed to enjoy it just as much, so his guilt was fleeting.

It wasn't long before the familiar tightening of his lower stomach drew his attention, and he ran one hand through Enjolras’ hair, the other on his shoulder, focusing in on the intense waves of pleasure. Grantaire came, sudden and wet and much too quickly to be dignified, but Enjolras didn't seem to care, even as the mess splattered all over his boyish chest. Grantaire let out a careful sigh, cupping Enjolras' cheek and smiling slightly down at him.

Enjolras gave him a strange look, lips slightly parted and drawing in shallow breaths. He snagged his hands in Grantaire’s collar suddenly, yanking him down and kissing him, deep and filthy as if he'd been practicing for this one kiss his whole life, moaning shamelessly into it.

Grantaire pulled back after only a few seconds, however, chuckling lowly and sweeping his thumb over Enjolras' sharp jawline. "We should make ourselves decent again," he murmured.

Enjolras sighed. "I am not sure I want this night to end."

Grantaire grabbed his cravat off the floor, deeming it a lost cause anyway, and used it to gently wipe the sticky mess off of Enjolras as the blonde struggled back into his trousers. "And why is that? You are here, everything you have worked for since you were twelve years old. You are on the cusp of a new revolution. Is it not what you preached for so long?"

Enjolras stood shakily, reaching for his shirt and jacket and Grantaire tucked himself away, buttoning up his front again. "For ten years I have dreamed of nothing but a free world," Enjolras sighed, tucking in his shirt tails. "And I have worked so hard to bring us here..." He fiddled with his buttons, averting his eyes from the other man. "So here we are, ready to fan the flames of our revolt. I had not thought I would be here with regrets."

"You have regrets?" Grantaire tucked his soiled cravat into his pocket, allowing his shirt to fall open and expose a small patch of his chest.

"I do. I suppose I had not realized them until just now," Enjolras answered. "Have you no regrets?"

"I have had more regrets in my life than triumphs; my world has become merely a shattered visage of my former self. I have had no reason to be joyful, and so I come here regretting all that could have been." Grantaire glanced out the window on the far side of the room. "I regret leaving my mother to fend for herself, and I regret abandoning my art career. I regret picking up the bottle for the first time and failing to ever set it down again, and I regret all the little things I have kept within myself, unsaid. Men greater and smarter than I have said you should not go to your death with regret in your heart. And, as you so aptly pointed out before, I am incapable of even dying. My regrets weigh me down, but perhaps your godly light may shine a bit on me before I depart this world."

His monologue ended, Grantaire dragged the chair back to the table, avoiding Enjolras' gaze in turn.

"We will not die," Enjolras repeated, though the fire of his voice was filled with wavering uncertainty. "You will live, and we will right all of your regrets. Together."

"I don't assume you lament anything."

"I regret the way I have treated you, in the past," Enjolras admitted. "I wish I had been kinder, in my own time. I wish I had taken time to look upon you to find the man beneath the cynicism and drink. I regarded you with only a little lofty pity. Now I wish I had not. If I must sacrifice myself to the cause, I will only have loved you like this too shortly."

Grantaire smiled, regaining his chair and resting his elbows on the table, Enjolras coming to stand beside him. "So you love me, then?"

"I have said that, haven't I?" Grantaire's stomach plummeted, until he recognized the teasing way of Enjolras’ voice.

"If it makes you happy to hear it, know that I will love you until we die. Be it today, or tomorrow, or in many years when I am old and bent." Grantaire looked up at him, scanning the soft set of Enjolras' mouth. A smile.

"I shall love you until beyond that time," Enjolras answered evenly.

The swelling of Grantaire’s heart, so swift and overpowering it was almost painful, made it difficult to breathe. He'd never imagined emotion this deep. "Above all, I regret not telling you years ago," he whispered.

"Telling me what?"

"I have loved you since I saw you. You were giving a speech, just seventeen years old, and I followed you back to the Musain. I didn't know why, then. But I never left."

"I wish I had realized sooner."

"I was never so discreet."

"I would not have been offended, to hear it."

"I thought it better to admire from afar." Grantaire cracked a small grin at the memories.

A shout came from outside, by the barricades, someone calling for Enjolras. The blonde looked up, eyes misty as he gazed out the window.

"I have to go now," he sighed. "I have been gone too long already."

"I wish I had the courage to go with you," Grantaire answered, also looking to the outside. "I was always a coward. I cannot fight. But I will be useful for something. You will see."

Enjolras glanced down at him. "Be careful, and watch yourself. Death may not be in your future, but threats will. Go carefully."

"You need only ask."

Enjolras leaned forward, pressing one soft kiss to his temple. "Stay safe."

"You need it more than I."

Enjolras gave him one last, true smile, showing teeth even, and squeezed his shoulder tightly. "Perhaps I will see you there soon."

There was another call from outside, and Enjolras turned and left quickly, with one furtive glance backward.

Grantaire sat back in his chair, eyes wide, trying to absorb the events of the evening. He heard Enjolras' voice, strong and iron once again as he became a leader once more. He was built for war, ready and confident, things Grantaire never could be.

He swiped another bottle from the stash on the opposite wall, twisting the cork out and holding it, just feeling the rough texture compared to the smooth, flawless glass. Completely different, yet harmonious in every way. He smiled at the halfway metaphor and took a hearty swig.

It wasn't long before the bottle was empty, and sleep overcame him once more, the only thought on his mind happening to wonder if he might be roused by canons or gunfire, and find his courage.

He would discover the next morning, however, that noise does not rouse a drunken man. Silence does.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep this as canon as possible, and my eyes are tired of rereading this, so if you spot anything weird just tell me gently and I'll fix it.
> 
> Thank you for reading this, I've worked on it for almost two months now and I have to admit I'm pretty proud of it. Let me know what you think!
> 
> (PS. the title is taken from the chapter where Éponine dies, I know it's not about them but I still think it fits)


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